If I were called in
To construct a religion
I should make use of water.
Going to church
Would entail a fording

To step over the low wall that div
Road from concrete walk above the
Brings sharply back something know
The miniature gaiety of seasides.
Everything crowds under the low ho

He stunk of old stale cigarettes a

My son, my executioner,
I take you in my arms,
Quiet and small and just astir
And whom my body warms.
Sweet death, small son, our instru

The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance...
our long way home.
I was always yours to have.

The earth was green, the sky was b
I saw and heard one sunny morn,
A skylark hang between the two,
A singing speck above the corn;
A stage below, in gay accord,

When I think about myself,
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big jok
A dance that’s walked
A song that’s spoke,

On a summer morning
I sat down
on a hillside
to think about God –
a worthy pastime.

I know someone who kisses the way
a flower opens, but more rapidly.
Flowers are sweet. They have
short, beatific lives. They offer
much pleasure. There is

Up, black, striped and demasked li
At a funeral mass, the skunk’s tai
Paraded the skunk. Night after ni
I expected her like a visitor.The
My desk light softened beyond the

you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they
are not.
those odd ones, not

Take me back to The Mango Tree
where it was sweet
where it was always May
Take me back to The Mango Tree
Where your love was magic